Rumplestiltskin's Tale
by Una Dougal
Summary: Caught and imprisoned, the dark imp scratches his story into the prison walls. A/N:The Dark One seems to have said about all he is going to ;-  Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1: It is never so simple

**A/N: standard disclaimer ~ this is a fan fiction meant to amuse fellow fans, nothing more/ nothing less.**

**I wondered how it would be to get his story directly from the source, then I wondered what could _possibly_ induce Rumplestiltskin to tell it! I hope you enjoy it; reviews welcome.**

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><p>It is never so simple as one might think, telling my own tale. It's probably pointless in any case, who will ever read these words? But, as I've got nothing else to do to pass the time until the "curse-to-end-all-curses" goes off. I've got claws and I'm in a prison of earthen walls – hah, walled in by the earth herself more like – what need I or torches; I have been able to see in the dark from the very first. I might as well scratch my words here. Perhaps one day someone will happen upon it. And if not, no harm done? Boredom will be the death of me, and I'm not <em>quite<em> ready for that ultimate surrender just yet. There are accounts still active whose balance is coming due.

I've heard it said that this sort of tale should begin at the beginning, but that would be an interminable bore. Besides there is no one left alive who remembers – I think – unless Baba Yaga has somehow managed it: the very first Ogre War. Not that I was ever a great hero. Who would want to be, really? So many of them go through hell for people who neither know nor care, only to die horrible deaths far from home. War is never what they tell you, cannon fodder. If you remember nothing else I have to tell, remember that. It starts for some political gain, usually disguised as a righteous cause, and ends only when all the children and youth of the nations are ground to pulp in the name of their kings and kingdoms' ledgers. How many kings fall in the process? The numbers never balance. Never.

I tried to tell my son, so long ago. I know he didn't understand then. Perhaps he did at the end, when I finally found what was left of him, just alive enough to know it was me.

Maybe I should have told him when he was younger. But I was only human then. Stupidly thinking that I could protect him from what was coming: the ever grinding, insatiable mechanism of greed and bloodshed and politics – war.

Surprised to find me a bit of an anarchist? Wouldn't you be?

What would you think if you had been conscripted, pressed into the service of a king you had never heard of? If your local lord or duke, or even town aldermen, had appointed you as part of a levied force of untrained peasants and farmers and craftsmen, then merrily sent you and your unlucky neighbors down the rocky road to hell without so much as arms, armor or weapons enough to protect you?

You certainly might have fought back, as I tried to. There was too much at stake: who would protect our village if they took all the grown men? Women and children and grandmothers, that's who. While we marched, they died. This, I learned later though. In the beginning I believed the knights who pointed us down the road to the war when they told us that, by meeting the foe far from home we were better able to protect our loved ones. Either they lied knowingly or were just plain wrong. It doesn't matter.

It is said that ogres are not men. This is true, mostly. They are built like men. They have hunger and thirst like men. Ogres have a desire to live, as men desire to live. But unlike most sane men, ogres seem to derive some sort of ecstasy from the wholesale slaughter of other beings. This is not to say that they are necessarily evil. Evil is, after all a rather complex thing, and to say something – or someone- is evil implies a mental process, an _intent_ that simple beings do not seem capable of. Whatever else they are ogres are relatively simple. They are beings who operate on instinct, and their instincts tell them to kill, burn, and perhaps most disturbingly_ eat_ anything alive that crosses their path. They enjoy bloodletting and violently, needlessly messy battles are their delight.

Before I acquired the power of the Dark One, it was said that I had run from battle. The knights who came for my son on the eve of his 13th birthday told him – told my son! - that I was 'the man who ran.' Did I? Well might you wonder.

Is it possible to run after standing in the face of an ogre charge? Do you think you could rouse yourself from the blood-freezing terror of that sight: hundreds of eight foot-tall ogres thundering across the land toward you with bloodlust in their eyes? Don't you think we all would have run if our feet were not rooted to the spot by shock and horror? Think you that it is cowardice to turn away when boys you have grown up with, cousins, friends, your own wife's brother, are torn asunder or crushed into the clay? If you had seen what I saw… but no one has. I was the sole survivor out of all the men from my county. Five thousand or more fell – a number I could not even comprehend back then. What it meant to me was that everyone I had known was dead.

I was found in the shadow of a shattered wall, the rampart I and my brother-in-law and cousins had stood upon. When at last the ogre hoard had passed through the province and the duke's men came into the blasted landscape again, I alone among the levy of five thousand still breathed. My hip was shattered, my leg mangled; my back I thought broken by the falling stones of the wall. How I lived, no one could say. Perhaps it was the thought of my young son growing up without a father that kept me holding on. I honestly don't remember.

The first memory I have after they found me was of being questioned. The fact of my survival was an unaccountable embarrassment to these men, these knights. It was they who first claimed I must have turned tail and run. My wounds were attended to in the duke's prison to insure that I survived long enough to tell what I had seen, and in the end the war-weary duke had granted me clemency and sent me home. My village was a charred wreck but my son survived, though there was no sign of my wife. What did I care that the word was that I had run?

I came to care soon enough, as my surviving neighbors spat accusations that I had left their kinsfolk to die and saved myself. All I wanted then was to be left alone to raise my son in peace. That was not to be.

With the return of the ogres ten years later the wars were on again and it was my son's turn to play the role of soldier and martyr. The memory of how I was then makes me ill to this day; so simpleminded as to think an ordinary man could protect his boy from the grinding wheels of progress and conquest! They all said I had run? So be it, I resolved to take Bae and run to save him from death or worse. We were caught of course, but a beggar on the road had told me a valuable secret: how to gain power over the duke's wizard, the Dark One.

Wouldn't you like to know how I did that? How I became the most powerful mage in these lands? One day maybe that story will be told, but I'm not so foolish as to scratch it into my prison walls now, am I?

I've probably already said too much as it is.


	2. Chapter 2: Room Service

Rumplestiltskin's Tale: CH 2 "Room Service"

I must admit that being incarcerated has its advantages. It seems that chief among them is the quality of the room service: when one's captors are high-born, and (perhaps) they secretly fear that the captive might be plotting to escape - not to say fully capable of that trick and merely biding his time for some nefarious reason – they see to it that the captive is well fed, though not too comfortably housed.

Either that or the upper crust simply has no idea of how to inflict privation on a person, having never experienced it themselves! But I must be mistaken in this. No, I was right the first time: my jailers have seen the seamier sides of life. After all, Snow White was a fugitive living on the run for years and her precious Prince Charming was born a shepherd boy… I wonder if he has told her that much? Hmm. That bears tweaking them next time they come pay me a visit! And as for poor Cinderelly, well she was not so far above the lowest peasant herself only a short time ago: from char woman to princess in the wave of a magic wand. Heh.

Today I'm bored and wonder if that particular deal was such a good idea… although it _did_ guarantee me these lovely accommodations, and a convenient place to await the end of our world. How long will it take the Queen to get around to triggering the curse? Does she really have the stones to do it?

Of course she does. What she lacks is the brains to step away from the fire before she burns herself. I can see it unfolding any number of ways and it always comes down to her hatred getting the better of her.

Yes, I can see into the future. More correctly I suppose you might say, 'futures.' Nothing is ever completely predictable, the farther away in time it is, the hazier it gets, and the more versions of possibility I see. The bitch of it is to pick the one that _will _happen and coax that event into reality. Harder still would be to engineer things just-so and stop a likelihood from coming to pass.

It's not like I learned that trick overnight, dearies: that one has taken more than one lifetime to master. Had I known it in bygone times, there would have been no need to learn it at all; all would have been well. But no, things never end well for the likes of me it seems: those are the rules!

When that curse kicks off though? The odds will change, all bets are off and I will be the one with the power. And perhaps, if all goes just-so, the Queen will be in no position to cause me trouble ever again. I may even finally be rid of her, forever.

Wouldn't that be a fairytale dream come true?

Here's the problem, dears: there's no such thing as a "happy ending." It's true. The only ending is death, and who goes down that road joyously skipping along, knowing it to be a 'dead end'? So the whole thing is a farce; she wants to keep everyone else from having a happy ending because she feels cheated by fate, or life, or magic, or whatever it is that she fancies owes her a perfect life of her choosing. Poor, poor Queenie; inflicting misery on every living thing just because she has the power to do so!

And yet people fancy _me_ to be the mad, Dark One?

Well, yes I did explode a fairy godmother and take her wand. I had my reasons.

Poor wretched little Cinderella just had to have her night at the ball. I had to insure that happened according to plan. I keep telling you, but no one seems to comprehend: all magic comes at a price. If saying so makes me a villain, so be it. There's no telling what that fairy godmother had in mind or what it might have cost.

How else was I expected to get Cinderella to agree to give me her child? Sounds scandalous, yes?

You'll see, that deal will bear out in my favor. Besides, what difference if it was a prince's get or a pauper's? Nobody seems to object when a peasant woman sells me her child to save the farm, do they? The royalty can't be bothered that their subjects are starving and desperate enough to barter with the lives of their own flesh and blood.

The little known - and by the time anybody reads this scrawl of mine - forgotten factor in this whole Cinderella and Prince Thomas escapade is: at what cost was it that they locked me in here in the first place? True, the blue fairies had their reasons for seeing me safely locked away, but if it was just business or even simply personal with them, what have they done with the young prince, eh? Hasn't been seen since their fae spell paralyzed yours truly that night… and its likely he won't be either, until the Queen's will be done and that curse is set off. We'll all be who knows where then, and won't that be fun?

That's the trouble of dealing with fairies: you never know what they will take in return, or when. Think the fairies are all about love and light, do you? There are scars on these walls that tell a different tale: of exiled dwarfs and fairy tears. Their agenda is their own and has more to do with their need for their precious dust; human happiness is none of their concern.

What do blue fairies eat, do you think?


	3. Chapter 3: Madness

Rumplestiltskin's Tale: CH 3 "Madness"

Madness has its advantages. Perhaps you doubt the veracity of my statement?

Consider this: when one has lost everything in life that gives any meaning or joy to that life, what remains but to go insane? If you crave wealth, there can be an unending supply. Power is your drug? So be it, go ahead and reach for the stars, there will always be more to conquer. How about magic? Always new things to learn there. And the explorer may traverse the globe only to find himself back where he started, staring at something that was invented while he was away!

But, perchance you only value security, comfort, family… love? All of that can be lost or taken away. All of that is fleeting and precious, and like many a fragile thing, all may be taken quite for granted until they are destroyed utterly. Never to return. Consider then what a blessing it would be to lose one's mind in such circumstances.

Would that it were so easy. Lucidity is my prison, not these Dwarf-hewn walls. I can feel the stir of dark power out there somewhere. Any time now…

It is said that '_tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all_. Anyone who says so deceives themselves. Its better never to have known. Some mistakes cannot be unmade. Only vengeance remains, and that's a bitter substitute.

I've suddenly become quite popular. It must be all the rage for the princely caste to come down here and visit. Slumming. Snow and her Charming new husband came just this evening!

What could I tell them: we're all screwed. Why the hell should I care? It's about time the Queen got this show on the road… but no, she has undoubtedly botched the spell and I'll be stuck in this pit forever.

Then there was 'Emma.' Interesting how in all this time – months and months after the Queen delivered her threat on their wedding day- Charming and Snow have only just considered that the curse is actually coming, that there might be a way out of this mess… and that I might have any inkling in that regard. Only on the verge of having a child have they even considered taking action… not that it really would have helped had they tried anything sooner. Nothing is going to stop that spell.

But this child, this Emma-to-be, she has something. It was hard to see: looking through the future, through the miasma of that curse, is damn near impossible. I did it once and got a world of hurt for my trouble, but this was different. With them right here, asking me for this favor for their child and not for their own selfish sakes; I could not see much that made sense, but I know her name now. Emma will be very important when the time is right, in that new land beyond the curse.

Much to my delight, I find that Emma will give the Queen a very hard time. Queenie doesn't even see this coming! It's going to drive her mad.


	4. Chapter 4: The End is The Begining

**A/N: This little ride in Rumple's head seems to be coming to a stop, thanks all for reading and especially reviewing!**

CH. 4: The End is - The Beginning - is The End

Prison. It's a state of being really. I've been in one prison or another ever since I became _The Dark One_. Don't believe me? Suit yourself. But suppose the unbelievable happened. Suppose this imp, this dastardly deal maker, this inhuman villain had once had happiness… or almost had it. Truly, it was within my grasp.

Belle.

The letters should be engraved in pure gold and set with gems, with pearls of purest white flawless as her soul, sapphires blue as her bright eyes, and diamonds fit for a… queen. Certainly not our present queen. No! Never that!

Belle should have been the queen of my heart. It was my unique stupidity that I realized it too late.

She wanted me to become an ordinary man again. I suppose now that she had the best intentions, that it _was_ True Love. Believe me when I say that I loved her more than life, and still do. But I would not – could not forsake my power for her. It was too dangerous and outrageous considering who I am and the things I have done. I would have been dead before the transformation was complete and she with me!

Did she really not know what the dangers would be? How could she have lived in my home all that time and not known, eh? How indeed could she have made a deal with me, given herself into my custody without knowing the reputation of this creature called Rumplestiltskin? Is it possible? Was it possible?

Looking back I find that I can only but believe her words, her actions, were those of an innocent. She loved me. I cannot explain this. I surely never thought she could; that anyone ever could, much less a soul so delightful as she. And there… there was the weakness that Regina exploited.

Of all the enemies I have made over the years, Regina – our present Queen – is the most dangerous. Of all the reasons for me to retain my magical abilities, her continued threat presents the best argument! Who else can stand against her? In a perverse way –and don't think it doesn't give me some delight in my present, declawed situation – it is _my_ power that has protected all of these poor desperate souls while I was at large in the world! After all, who else could ever hope to match or defeat Regina? Crazy and vindictive as she is, the woman has tremendous magical resources at her disposal. Still, she would never trifle with those who owed something to _me._

I let that happen once. Belle lost her life because I let her go, released her from our pact. It's not my fault. I could not see into the future clearly then. I thought she would be safer, happier back home with her father. I was wrong. The Evil Queen- heartless bitch that she is- very nearly chortled to tell me that my dearest's own father had her scourged to cleanse her soul. Her spotless, perfect soul… could she have really destroyed herself…?

Nay, I would never simply believe Regina's report! I searched the world for Belle; for any word or sign that the evil witch queen had spoken false. Every word I ever heard of my sweet Belle was that she was lost. Gone forever. Forever and ever… never coming back!

In those early days of my anger, my rage and grief I created the perfect curse.

To enact the curse to end all curses I told Regina she must kill that one that she loves the most in all the world. She will surely tear out her own father's heart… would that it were Sir Maurice's, aye there would be justice for my poor beloved. But no; him that spawned and reared and serves that bitch, Regina – he will do nicely for a start. Or a finish.

In what is left of my heart - the remains of a shriveled and broken thing that once belonged to her; to my Belle- I do not truly expect any of us to survive the enactment of the curse. I'm damn near impossible to kill. This curse will end our entire world, or so I'm inclined to believe. It'll be a nasty surprise to our deluded Queen, but –if we survive or die and pass to another world it makes little difference to me. For what she has done to me and mine, I would burn the very heavens down.

Perhaps I will meet Belle in the hereafter. I want to believe that 'tis possible. If I do, I won't fail to tell her that I'm sorry. I will beg her forgiveness and throw myself on the mercy of the one person from whom I have no right to ask it. I hope she will grant it to me, but I don't expect it.

The darkness is coming. I guess it worked.


End file.
